Pine Trees
by xFallenSkyx
Summary: I was cheated by StarClan when my leg was broken in a tree accident, never to be healed. I can't bear the thought of never returning to my warrior duties and never being able to hunt and fight for my Clan. I will never again race through the forest as my siblings, still blessed with four working legs, will. I will never have any more fun. No, not if I can't serve my Clan.


**Hello. :3 This is for WillowClan's Monthly Writing Challenge. It was actually rather fun to write this. Well, to write in general, since I've had writer's block for so long. Hope you enjoy.**

**The quote was: _"Life is more fun if you play games." _**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Warriors. _If I did, I wouldn't be writing a fanfiction of my own books. :P**

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A gentle breeze sways the frost-covered bramble vines which hang from the den. Pale dawn sunlight seeps inside, cloaking the rock walls with its soft, white glow and illuminating the usually dim den. All is silent except the mellow, quiet songs of few, early waking birds, which had decided not to flee for Leafbare and can be heard just outside. The thumps of swift pawsteps and snow being swished around echoes nearby in the clearing of camp.

"Russetwing! Russetwing! Tell us a story, won't you?" Two youthful voices ring through the den. I groan, shifting from my side to lie on my belly. My eyes gradually open to reveal two, narrowed icy blue eyes, and I peer around the den, spotting the two Clan kits, Jaykit and Snowkit, sitting and eagerly watching the sleek, dark ginger she-cat they had been calling to only heartbeats prior.

Russetwing. She is former deputy of my Clan and by far the most tolerable elder, I have decided. She doesn't nag and complain like Darkstorm and Petalfrost, and she doesn't pester me with jokes as Bramblehawk seems to enjoy doing. And although I'll admit I respect her more than the others, I don't particularly like her either. Similar to every other elder, all she does is laze around, dozing off while sunbathing or occasionally telling another one of her rather overused stories.

"For StarClan's sake, Wolfpaw, you're 'posed to be pullin' out these ticks, not my fur! You young'uns these days can't get anythin' right, can ya'? Back in my day, I could take down a big ol' badger! An' you can't even properly remove these pests!" I flatten my ears in attempt to block out Darkstorm's irritating rant. Is there anything he doesn't complain about? You could give him a plump mouse and he'd probably find something wrong with it-proclaim it as poisonous, perhaps.

I hear Bramblehawk, a large, brown and white tom, sit up beside me, and he utters, in an amused tone directed at Darkstorm, "The only thing you took down was the freshkill pile."

"And my herb supply, might I add. Comin' in so often for a bellyache. Nearly wiped out my whole supply of juniper berries!" Petalfrost's sour tone echoes from the back of the den. That creamy brown she-cat may have been medicine cat at one point, but she was not the gentle and sweet cat, which she formally was, according to some, anymore.

I shut my eyes, bringing my dappled, gray paws toward my head and pressing them firmly against my ears. A futile attempt, it is, indeed. Do those old mousebrains not know how to speak any quieter? I blame that on their failing hearing, or maybe they're doing it purposely to get on my nerves. Perhaps they're mocking me, attempting to show me what will come of me moons later. But that won't be for a long while. I'm only fifteen moons old, and yes, I already live with the elders, being appallingly cheated by StarClan when my leg was broken by a tree accident, never to be healed.

A deep growl escapes my throat at the very thought of never returning to my warrior duties and never being able to hunt and, more importantly, fight for my Clan. I would never again race through the forest as my siblings, still blessed with four working legs, would. I would, by no means, ever have any more fun. No, not if I couldn't serve my Clan.

Breathing out a sigh, I once again open my eyes. Wolfpaw, the scruffy, dark gray tom, has left the den. _What a surprise._ If I could leave that easily, I would. But elders, which includes me now, are forced to stay in one place. Sure, I can walk around camp, but what's the point? Seeing all my Clanmates, each walking on four, _faultless_ legs, simply fuels my burning hatred for what was stolen from me.

"Stonefang, are you alright?" It's at that moment that I realize the fur along my spine has risen, and my lips have pulled back in the beginning of a snarl. My gaze travels to Russetwing, the one who had questioned me, and I can see her staring back, her own eyes showing a mixture of confusion, worry, and likely pity. The two energetic kits are gone. By the looks I'm getting from the other elders, I must have frightened them off.

I flick my ears backwards, and I spit, "Alright? I'll never be 'alright'. There's nothing left for me. What's the point? It's always sleeping and complaining about wet moss or ticks you can't pull out yourself. There's nothing that can make my bland life, having to live with you- all of you- any better."

I almost feel guilty when a catch a glimpse of both Bramblehawk's and Russetwing's expressions._ Almost_. I shrug it off, though. Why should I care if they're hurt by my words? I was only speaking the truth, after all.

Darkstorm, using his paws, pushes himself onto his frail-looking legs. He paces over to me, and I try to act nonchalant as he thrusts his black, muzzle, which is speckled in white like freshly fallen snow, into my face. "At leas' we don't sit aroun' mopin' like lost kits," he answers.

Now, normally I ignore the elderly tom's snide comments, but he's hit a nerve this time. I promptly stand, much too quickly and forgetting about _it._ I can't get so much as one word out. A searing sting runs up my left, back leg. I feel my muscles tighten, and I let out a breathless gasp of pain. I tumble to the dusty floor, my awkwardly twisted leg laying limply to the side.

I watch as the jet black tom trots to the exit of the den. He turns his head to look over his shoulder a me, and he states, " I'm goin' out. You're right. We've been lazin' aroun' too much. I need to give my legs a good ol' stretch. Now, who's comin' with me?"

I stand to my paws once more, this time much slower, allowing my wrenched leg to barely hover above the ground. I hobble over to Darkstorm, stepping in front of him. My icy blue glare, as bitter as the frost that blankets the land outside, stays locked on him. I protest, "You can't just leave. You're-we're- not allowed to."

"Imma 120 moons old. I don't got to ask for permission to take a walk," the black tom snorts. He adds in with a tinge of a more light-hearted tone to his voice, "Now. Do any of ya' ol' furballs wanna come with me?"

I am about to point out that he's actually the oldest cat in our Clan, in all the Clans for that matter, but I decide against it. There are more important things right now. Darkstorm pushes past me, causing me to stumble a bit. I notice Bramblehawk, Petalfrost, and even Russetwing amble after him. They ignore my growls, ordering them to come back. With an irritated huff, I hobble after them. I should just let them go. Why do I care if they get injured? But my legs seem to move without thought of where they're heading.

Many of my Clanmates are still asleep, and the ones who are awake, are too busy organizing into their patrols to notice us, the insignificant, boring elders. Despite their advanced ages, they're strangely still rather balanced and quick with their movements, even when walking paw-deep in the fluffy, pure white snow that covers the generally sandy, rock ground. And it isn't long before we reach the exit. They slide through in a hurried manner, and not wanting to be left behind, I mimic them, feeling the frosted ivy tendrils, which conceal this way into camp, brush somewhat harshly against my short coat.

Wind occasionally buffets against me. I can feel dappled sunlight and shade on my gray pelt as we pass under the many pine trees that huddle close beside each other in our territory. They're covered in clumps of snow, and ice clings to their branches. Their leaves still remain, though. It seems peculiar to me how they remain so strong. Regardless of how terrible the weather is or how sharp a gust of wind, they don't appear to weaken. And I find myself, intently observing, oddly fascinated.

I nearly bump into Bramblehawk when we come to an abrupt stop. I stagger a bit on unsteady three legs, but I regain balance soon enough. Before I can snap in annoyance, inquiring on why we paused, I see the elders, all watching the same thing silently. The lake. It's frozen over with patches of snow laying on it. It's not the first time I've seen it like this. I have one other time when I was an apprentice, but I didn't take much notice to it. And I don't understand why they are right now.

"Do ya 'member?" I have to strain my ears to catch what Darkstorm is saying. A brown and white, cream colored, and a ginger head nod in response. I shoot them an inquisitive look. Before I can ask anything; however, all three of them take off running- Darkstorm, Russetwing, Bramblehawk, and lastly(but not least because that would most definitely be Darkstorm) Petalfrost.

My frosty blue eyes go as wide as the moon as I see them heading straight for the ice-covered lake. Are they insane? I limp after them as fast as I can, shouting and growling for them to come back. But they don't seem to hear me. Failing sense of hearing, I suppose. Just another point at why they're so very bothersome.

When I too reach the lake, I halt. I've never been on it when it was frozen. Actually, I never even went in it when it wasn't. I was always too busy, hunting or fighting- the two things I miss most- for my Clan. I warily view the four old cats. They're slipping and sliding all over. Sluggishly, I lift my right paw and bring it down and onto the ice, feeling a chill pass through my paw pad. In my determination to reach my Clanmates, I shift all my paws- well, all three good ones- onto the lake. _Right paw, Left paw, Right paw..._ I make my way towards them leisurely.

My claws fail in their attempt to dig into the frost, and I now find myself stumbling around. I slip, falling and clashing with the rough, bitter ice. I flinch in slight pain, but my grunt of annoyance is more noticeable. When I hear cackling, my pelt ruffles and rage builds up inside me. How dare they laugh at me!

On shaky legs, I make it back to my paws. My eyes scan the area to see the four of them, standing near each other and not far from me either. "You mousebrained, old cats! You-" I can't finish my sentence before a pile of snow comes flying at me, slapping against my face and getting in my mouth. I cough, spitting it out, and my blue eyes glare at the cat who had kicked it at me. _Darkstorm._

My claws unsheathe, and for a moment, I almost charge at him, like a warrior rushing into battle. But what stops me is the look in his eyes. His normally dull, yellow gaze is shining with amusement. He somehow looks much youthful than I had ever seen him.

He pads over to me and purrs, his voice softer than I've ever heard it before, "We used to play here. Petalfrost, Russetwing, Bramblehawk, an' I. We'd come down here ever' Leafbare when we had spare time to run on the ice." I see a distant but content look in his vivid yellow eyes now.

"Spare time?" I inquire, narrowing my own eyes both in suspicion and curiousness. "Why didn't you just hunt? Or check the borders again? That's what I would have done- what I would do if I could."

"But what fun would that be? Ya need to get out more," he says with a rusty chuckle. And before I can object, he kicks another bit of snow at me.

I can't help but let out a mrrow of laugher, which surprises me greatly. I haven't laughed since the accident. No, I haven't even felt any amusement or joy since it. But now I am. And I can't help but prance after Darkstorm as he dashes away. I forget about the pain in my leg as I keep it lifted and near my side in effort to be able to move swifter and keep it out of the way. When I'm close enough to the black tom, I flick snow on him.

We, all five of us, continue to sprint and play around until we're panting and covered in small patches of frost and snow. Our pelts ruffled, we're all guffawing. I gaze fondly at these cats- the ones I will have to spend my time around. And I realize that, perhaps, I won't be so unfortunate. No, I can't hunt or fight for my Clan. That would always bother me. But that doesn't mean I can't ever have fun. My life wouldn't be a complete bore after all because I had the elders and their games- things I would have never even contemplated about.

Darkstorm strolls over to me. "See? I may be ol' but that don't mean I can't do nothing. An' jus' 'cuz you can't be a warrior don't mean your life has no reason. Ya' can still do what ya' can to help aroun' camp, but remember to enjoy the many moons ya still have. An' always remember, life is more fun if you play games."

I will never forget that crazy, old tom.

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**Reviews are greatly appreciated. :3 Tell me what you think. What did you like? Anything you didn't like?**


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